


Not Right For Anybody Else

by rebel_diamond



Series: Love on Ice [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, I made it into a thing!, Ice skating Rumbelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_diamond/pseuds/rebel_diamond
Summary: How Gold became Belle’s skating coach.Part of the Love on Ice series wherein disgraced ex-pairs figure skater Gold is hired to coach ice princess Belle and her partner Gaston to the Olympics. If Gold and Belle don’t kill each other first.





	Not Right For Anybody Else

Gold leaned on the bar, thumb tracing the whiskey glass as he allowed the malt to linger on his tongue. In general he didn’t support bars that sold t-shirts of itself, and the mountain views out the windows were lost on him, but The Old Forge didn’t have televisions and they turned the wi-fi off at 6pm. The patrons thinned out this close to the end of the tourist season so most nights he was left to enjoy his venison stew in peace. 

Which is why it disturbed him so much when a man crowded him, “Mr. Gold?” Gold tapped the bar top to signal to the bartender he wanted another before craning his neck. 

“Aye,” he acknowledged. The man just looked Gold up and down, noticeably confused. 

“Is there a problem?” he growled. 

The man cleared his throat, straightening, “Moe French,” he offered his hand. Gold gave it a withering glare until he dropped it, “I was told I would find you here.” 

“Is that right?” Gold turned back to his drink, “And who told you that?” He lifted his refreshed glass to his mouth. 

“The International Skating Union.” 

The whiskey caught in his throat and he choked. That was a phrase he hadn’t heard in twenty years. Yet the ISU had dictated the majority of his life. His wife divorcing him, leaving him for an Irish Olympic rower of all things, coincided with him leaving the sport to raise his son. Now, his son was grown and in New York living his life, which is how it should be, he repeatedly reminded himself. Gold rubbed the scruff on his neck, “How, exactly, does the ISU know where I am?” Moe’s eyes darted around the bar, not wanting to reveal his source. It took a moment for Gold to put the pieces together. Milah. He vaguely remembered Neal telling him that his ex-wife was running for some ISU council position some years ago. His eyes narrowed, “How do you know my ex-wife?” 

“I don’t!” Moe insisted. “I was talking to some other coaches, who suggested you and they talked to...” he made an ambiguous gesture instead of uttering his ex-wife’s name, “who told them, who told me where to find you.” 

Gold let a beat pass, “I’m sitting in Scotland’s most remote bar, Mr. French. What made you think I wanted to be found?”

Moe pulled up the stool next to him, “We need your help.” 

Gold smirked at that. The idea of him helping anyone was laughable. 

“My daughter needs a coach. We’re in a bit of a time crunch, as you know.” Gold stared at him blankly. “It’s the Olympics in 2 years,” Moe added, incredulous. 

Gold returned to his whiskey, “Is it?” He didn't live his life by that calendar anymore. Hadn’t in quite some time. “I remain..” He searched for the right word. Aimless. Numb. Broken. “Uninterested,” he finished. 

Moe tried a different tact, “You might have known Belle’s mother, Colette.” 

Gold cast his mind back. He remembered Colette, an ice dancer. Nice girl, from what he could recall. Their careers had overlapped some and senior level skating was a small community. 

“Then why doesn’t Corrine coach her?” 

“Colette’s…not well. Cancer. She can’t be up and about as much anymore. We need a…replacement,” he struggled with the last word. 

Gold paused, “I’m sorry for that. But I was never an ice dancer.” 

Moe brightened, “Belle’s in pairs. You and Milah were artists. Belle and Gaston have the technical ability, but they need some help in their performance. You were a master.” 

He had been a master. He’d chosen the music and choreographed the majority of his and Milah’s performances. Not that any of it had mattered, in the end. He shook his head, “I don’t coach. Anybody, including the ‘ISU’, could have told you that.” 

Moe raised his hand and ordered a beer, indicating he was just getting started with his petition. “They’ve won the junior national title last month. We want to move them up to senior and take a run at the Olympics.” Gold remained unmoved. “Please, I flew across the bloody ocean and took a seven mile ferry ride to find you. We live and train in Storybrooke, near Boston. We’ll pay your way. Come see them skate, just once. If you don’t like what you see, I’ll pay for your ticket home.”

Boston wasn’t terribly far from New York. He could have an all expenses paid trip to visit his son. He’d watch some ice princess with Olympic dreams who didn’t have the talent of her mother skate around in circles a few times, tell her she’d never make it, then go spend a week with his son. 

“Fly me out of JFK and you’ve got a deal.” 

_________________________________

Belle laced up her skates as she watched Anna and her partner Kristoff, ice dancers who also trained in her mother’s rink, finish practice. The rink was built when her mother was her age and was where her mother and her partner had trained. To maintain it during her mother’s illness, they rented the ice out to other skaters and opened it up to the public when they weren’t training. 

Anna stepped off the ice. “Heard you’re getting a new coach today!” she exclaimed, rushing over to Belle and forgetting her skate guards in her haste. Kristoff trailed behind, grabbing Anna’s guards with his own and bringing them to her. The gesture made Belle smile wistfully. No one had ever brought her skate guards to her before. 

“Yeah, Rumford Gold,” Belle supplied. Anna paled at the name. “You’ve heard of him?” 

Anna picked up her water bottle, “He imploded at the Olympics. You don’t know this story?” she took a swig of water and handed it to Kristoff, who finished it. It was yet intimate moment that was commonplace for them that didn’t go unnoticed by Belle. She shook her head. “Apparently he’s, like, really intense. He had a meltdown in front of everyone, left skating, and and went into hiding. Google it. One second thought, don't, the less you know, the better.” Anna stood and Kristoff picked up their bags, giving Belle a friendly wave. “Well, good luck!” Anna offered brightly. 

Belle finished tightening her skates, trying to forget why they were getting a new coach in the first place. Because her mother was sick. They were doing the best they could, but if they wanted to stay competitive they were going to need someone full-time. Perhaps it was for the best. Her mother could rest and get well and enjoy watching them without having to worry about everything else. 

Gaston emerged from the locker room, pausing by the mirror on his way over to her. “Did you know about Gold’s reputation?” she asked. 

“Yeah. They were the favorites going into the Olympics but he bombed. Everybody called them Golds Without Gold. And now he’s getting into coaching. What’s the saying? Those who can’t do teach?” He laughed at his own joke as he led them out onto the ice. 

_______________________________________

It had been over a decade since Gold had stepped foot into a rink. He followed Moe to the edge of the ice and watched the couple skate around. 

She was beautiful. Of course she was. She was delicate and lovely and watching her made Gold feel…something. He was incapable of putting a name to it because he hadn’t felt anything in such a long time. 

Gaston was fine. He did his job. Gold understood why they’d paired them. He was a big jock that could throw her high. The perfect stem to her flower. 

Even if he wanted to, Gold couldn’t coach this team. Skating had changed so much since he’d left. The kind of lifts and jumps that were expected were vastly more acrobatic. The scoring system wasn’t even the same. But his critical eye emerged nonetheless. Their throw heights were inconsistent, there was hesitation between elements, and their side by sides weren’t in tandem. 

“Belle! Gaston!” Moe stepped out onto the ice. They glided over, Gaston throwing an arm out and forcing Belle behind him. Curious blue eyes peeked at him from behind Gaston’s bicep. “I want you to meet Mr. Gold.” 

She tilted her head, her mouth so plump and serious. She didn’t remind him of anyone else, not Milah or any other skater. She didn’t remind him of his old life. Or his current one. She was…special. 

“Alright. I’ll do it.”


End file.
